#17
You’ve never gave up on me, a love everlasting, that I’m truly grateful for.
Second-hand Addiction
Second-hand Addiction
The first joint… It got you.
The bottle… It got you.
The pills… It got you.
Heroin and meth HOOKED.
Watched you stumble,
roll through
everyone else’s rock bottom
except your own.
Repetitive cycle. Hooked.
You don’t have a
problem though—
no care for the ones
that you love.
Waylaid
Not where I long to be
Not free to just be me
Another fucking
growth opportunity
Lesson learned
Not to be waylaid
Guess I’m just a fool for
Not staying true to me.
Wanting to be free
To have a good time
Not bound by
Other people’s rules
HOUR SIXTEEN ~ Everything and Nothing
EVERYTHING OR NOTHING
You can call it faith, if you like.
If that’s easier than leaving the unnameable to itself.
There’s an exploration that goes beyond naming,
But revelations are only for the curious.
Enmeshed in all these distinctions,
refracting a reaction like lightning.
So can you tell me, then, sunset chemist?
What secrets lie behind the sky?
Poetry Marathon Hour 16:
Prompt: Dance with me
Poem 16:
I’ve been here for far too long
with no real idea of what I’m doing
or why – but I’m going to beg you
to shut up and dance with me –
because I need one hell of a distraction.
-M. Rene’
Sincerelybluejay poetry
Communication is Bare Minimum
Communication is Bare Minimum
I’m on the edge
of your lips
holding on
to the safety in your voice.
-raiseyourexpectations
Like driftwood to a drowning man_ hour 16
Like driftwood to a drowning man.
Like driftwood to a drowning man
Like fresh Agege bread to a starving man
Like an oasis to a parched dessert crosser
Like a playboy centerfold to a horny teenager
Like fresh goat peppersoup on a cold day
Like mommy’s milk to a hungry baby.
That is how you feel to me right now.
How does your bed look to you right about now?
Prompt 16, Hypocrites
The last of the fires had been extinguished
and we had left the books required
to teach the flock.
We had dinner in a haze
but asked the crustaceans
for forgiveness before
pouring butter
over their boiled shells
and the meat
before stabbing
at our plates.
Over coffee and dessert,
we begged mercy
for the labor
required to harvest the wheat,
to grown and pluck the beans,
to smelt the silver for the dinnerware,
and the women to bear the laborers
who served our courses.
Who were we but God-fearing Patriots?
Too good to be true…
“Fancy labels and plastic smiles,
Too good to be true,
Are these new pair of shoes,
Design cliches and marketing lies,
That fooled me thrice,
And will again;
Offers and brand deals,
And celebrity endorsements,
All to sell a cheap bottle of perfume.
They are indeed too good to be true.”